


Avenging Injustices

by tillyenna



Series: Darling - I'd bare my neck to You [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe D/s, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Avengers start to embark on their world saving careers, Clint's public status as a submissive causes problems for the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avenging Injustices

After the Chitauri had been dispatched of, and Loki sent back to Asgard in the dawning morning, the remaining five of them scattered. Steve went off on his bike back to rediscover his country; Tony went to Pepper; Bruce disappeared, as was his wont; and Clint and Natasha found themselves alone, heading back to the helicarrier.

Without thinking they headed to Fury’s office for a debrief, they were SHIELD agents after all. Clint couldn’t help searching around the room for Coulson as he walked in, but Phil was a far more senior agent than either he or Natasha and was probably still busy doing clear up. Fury then explained to them the premise behind the Avengers Initiative and asked them both to be a part of it. Clint had to bite his tongue to stop himself protesting; Fury was mad to want a sub on a team like that, but he knew logically he was the best sniper in SHIELD and therefore a good addition.

“Finally,” Fury finished, “I’m afraid I’ve told Stark and Rogers that Coulson is dead.”

“He’s what?” Natasha spluttered out, Clint beside her going pale.

“I never said Coulson was anything, I just said I told Stark and Rogers he’s dead. He’s not, he’s in medical at the moment.” He glanced over at Clint, “Go and see him, Barton, and for God’s sake try not to irritate him.”

Clint reached the medical bay before he slowed to a jog and, without any questions, the nurses quietly pointed him in the direction of Coulson’s room. He crept inside. “Hey,” he whispered softly. “You awake?”

“Just,” Phil said softly, eyes closed, his voice cracked and parched. He lifted his right hand half a fraction. “Come here,” he ordered.

Clint smiled softly and went to kneel down at Coulson’s bedside.

“Did Fury talk to you about the Avengers?” Phil lifted his hand to rest on the top of Clint’s head, threading his fingers through his short hair.

“Yeah. It sounds good.” He chewed on his lower lip, “I’m not sure about his decision to put a sub on a team of Doms.”

“I’ll be your handler,” Coulson let the corner of his mouth twitch up half a fraction. “For all of you. If any of them tries a single thing with you they’ll have me to answer to.”

Even with Phil laying there in a hospital bed, utterly defenceless, Clint felt a shiver run down his spine. “I like it when you’re possessive.”

“It’s 'cause you’re mine,” Phil slurred softly, slipping back into unconsciousness.

They had a few months of peacefulness whilst Phil recovered with no major events that could not have been deal by a non-superhero-team and Tony Stark tried to persuade everyone to move into the newly rebuilt Stark Tower. Clint had initially refused but, when Stark suggested Phil move in to make use of the high-tech facilities he’d installed, Clint found himself slinking in after his Dom.

Of course, Tony Stark’s priority upon becoming part of The Avenger Initiative was to look up everything he could find out about each member of the team. He brought it up casually as they were all sat around in the living room.

“So, Natasha,” he asked, “is Clint yours?”

Natasha let out a horrified squeal. “No!” she protested vehemently, before adding aside to Clint, “No offence of course.” She shook her head, shooting Tony a dark glare, “That's disgusting. He’s like my little brother.”

Tony shrugged, “Just wondered.” He grinned his easy grin, the one that told everyone in the room there was no way they could embarrass him.

“What is this?” Thor asked, his voice booming across the room; however many times they’d talked to him about volume control, the moment he got distracted or interested he completely forgot it all. “Is it common for Midgardian males to be owned by a female?”

“It’s not about gender,” Tony smirked. “Clint’s a sub.”

Thor’s brows knitted together, “What is this sub of which you speak; an underwater vessel?”

Steve shot a warning look over at Stark. “Tony,” he said, his voice stern, “if Clint doesn’t want to discuss this then we aren’t going to.”

“It’s fine,” Clint protested almost immediately, hating the fact Steve had stood up for him. “I’m a big boy and it’s not like it’s not public knowledge.” He turned to Thor, “It’s to do mostly with sexual preferences, sub is short for submissive and the opposite is to be a Dominant.”

“Ah,” Thor nodded, clearly genuinely interested, as he was with most things when he was presented with new aspects of ‘Midgardian’ culture which he did not understand. “These words make the meaning clearer to me. Is it imperative that a submissive is owned by a Dominant?”

“Yes,” Steve said, at exactly the same time Clint said, “No.”

Clint shot a dark look at his team leader. “Sorry to bring you up to scratch there Cap, but it’s perfectly acceptable for a sub to be single and free in the modern world. We do have rights you know.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologised, suitably chastised. “I find it hard you know, it’s not that long ago for me that subs were deemed to need care.”

Clint shrugged. “You think I need looking after?” he asked, genuine amusement in his tone. Whilst there had been many out of line Doms who’d made it perfectly clear they thought he needed a good firm hand and a lot of punishment to sort him out, there had never been one who’d openly voiced the opinion that just because he was a sub, he needed caring for.

Steve blushed, “It’s what we did in my day. You find a sub you love and you cherish them – surely the word cherish is still in the collaring vows?”

Clint shrugged, glancing around the room. “Probably the wrong bunch of people to ask, I’ve never been collared.” He didn’t mention his unofficial relationship with Phil - Natasha knowing was one thing, he didn’t trust the rest of them enough to share something that personal.

No-one seemed particularly surprised by this revelation but Thor was still curious

“And are people either submissive or Dominant? Is it like gender, where you Midgardians cannot be anything in between?”

“Nah,” Tony explained. “It’s a sliding scale between 0 and 100, low scores mean you’re Dominant, high scores mean you’re submissive. There are tests you can sit to find out your score. I score a 14 for example.”

“I’m a 22,” Bruce offered, “Which means although I’m Dominant, I’m probably not as hard-wired to it as Tony is.”

“On the other hand,” Clint explained, feeling safe enough surrounded by his team to volunteer the information, “I score a 93. Which is pretty damn high.”

“Aww,” Natasha reached out to ruffle his hair. “Such a subby sub.”

Steve shot her a look, so she continued unapologetically, before adding to the conversation, “I score 13.”

“So you and the Man of Iron are similar?” Thor pondered thoughtfully. “Interesting.” He turned to Steve, “And you, Captain of America?”

“I score 11,” Steve admitted.

“That’s not right,” Clint blurted out, before he could stop himself, at the puzzled looks he was shot from all around the room, he felt he had to elaborate. “It says in the history books that you were an alpha, which would have meant your score was less than 10.”

“I should be interested to sit this test of yours!” Thor exclaimed. “This is most interesting.”

“It’s not just about your personality,” Bruce went on to explain, elaborating from what Tony had said. “Evidence suggests that high scoring subs will pair with low scoring Doms and those in the middle will be happiest together as well.”

“Doesn’t that mean Clint needs an alpha to be able to control him?” Natasha teased.

Clint just stuck his tongue out at her. “Like anyone could control me,” he laughed, ignoring the knowing look she shot him.

Within a day of their first mission, the press had managed to find out the Avengers real names and, with it, Clint’s registered status as a sub. Of course it was splashed straight across the headlines and sparked mass debates across the country about whether it was safe to have a sub in such a position, or how a sub had managed to rise so high. The submissive rights papers had a field day celebrating Clint as a hero, which he, of course, hated.

Within the tower it was another matter, Clint could feel everyone edging around him, trying not to damage him and yet trying not to protect him at the same time. Even Natasha, usually so comfortable with who he was was feeding off the vibes the others were giving off. Eventually it was Tony Stark of all people who broke the tension.

“Do you actually have a Dom?” he asked bluntly as they sat down to dinner.

“Nope,” Clint said, still on the defensive, picking up his fork both to start his dinner and as a defensive weapon.

“You want one?” Tony waggled his eyebrows; it was a caricature of his usual flirting, but he needed Clint to know he was being stupid.

“Fuck off Stark,” Clint laughed, the tension bleeding through his body. “You’re really not my type.”

“No,” Natasha snorted under her breath. “Your suits aren’t flashy enough.”

Clint shot her a warning glare. Whilst the rest of the team finding out about his submissive status was unavoidable, they couldn’t find out about Coulson.

After a few weeks, the media storm surrounding it settled and, although he was still a key feature in debates, he didn’t have the paparazzi in his face every time he stepped outside the door. But, whilst the media are fickle and move on easily, evil geniuses rarely do.

**  
Thor was off world but the others found themselves inside a secret underground lair; it was such a cliche Clint couldn’t help but snigger to himself. They’d had reports of various things and they each split up to investigate them. It was eerily empty and quiet, and there appeared to be nothing wrong anywhere, which was spooky in itself to Clint’s mind. You wouldn’t build a secret underground lab to do ordinary science experiments in and so he was on the defensive. 

They found all their paths led to the same place; a small room, perhaps 12ft by 12ft, but the ceiling was dark and high and they couldn’t see what was up there, which was cause for concern in itself. 

They were stupid, perhaps because they were scared, and they all entered, to investigate. Clint and Natasha first, Stark and Rogers following after, with Banner on their heels and the moment Bruce entered the room, the door slammed shut behind him.

“Fuck,” Tony swore and was instantly back at the door, getting Jarvis to scan it, to see if he could crack the locks. From outside, the sound of several manual bolts sliding across the electronic door made his face fall.

Steve was trying his comms, to no avail, attempting to keep the anxiety from his voice when Tony interjected. “They’ve blocked the electronic communications lines, I’ll have to do something else.” Which was when they heard a hiss from high up above and gas started pouring into the room.

“Cover your mouth.” Steve yelled, as Tony’s faceplate clicked into place, but it was useless and they all knew so, the room was airtight and they had no choice but to breathe in whatever they were being poisoned with.

“JARVIS what is it?” Tony demanded, panic edging his voice.

JARVIS spouted out some jargon no-one apart from Tony and Bruce could follow and Bruce was sat in one corner with his head between his knees doing the deep breathing exercises he needed to to stop himself hulking out. Clint recognised only one word amongst all of it and that was ‘hormone’ which didn’t bode well. He couldn't help every muscle in his body tensing up.

“In short,” Tony translated for them, “sex pollen.” A confused look crossed Steve’s face, the one they had all gotten used to seeing when someone made a cultural reference he didn't understand. “It’s going to make us all super horny,” he elaborated. “ Like, uncontrollably horny.”

That was the moment Clint shook himself out of his panicked paralysis. He flung himself into a corner, sliding the knives he kept strapped to his thighs into his hands. Natasha was already at the opposite corner of the room where Bruce sat and she beckoned Tony and Steve to her.

“We won’t, Clint,” she said softly, and there was such strength in her voice he almost believed it. “We are stronger than that.”

He nodded in reply, but it was a shaky nod and his arms didn’t waver from where they were holding the knives, pointing outwards.

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice shaking beyond it’s usual calm authority, struggling to tear his eyes from Clint. “Can you build us something to contact back-up?”

“I’m on it already,” Tony said, he was flicking through the schematics in his VDU and planning how to cannibalise his suit to make a CB radio. 

Tony had it easiest of all of them, he could bury himself in electronics and mechanics and distract himself. Bruce could not look up from the floor and his skin was turning a worrying green colour; his palms were placed flat on the floor and he was breathing deeply. Natasha was still, as always, but the one time Steve placed a foot too close to the other side of the room the growl she let out was positively feral. She too would not look at Clint, but she stood with her back to him, a gesture of trust she would not show to many, and faced the rest of the team, almost like she was protecting him from them. Steve had it hardest, he could not tear his eyes from where Clint stood defensively in the corner. His erection was obviously tenting the front of his uniform and sweat was beading on his forehead, he chewed on the inside of his mouth and muttered things to himself under his breath; he could fight them all for Clint and win, but he would not.

“Clint, buddy,” Tony said softly, “I need to borrow one of your knives.” His suit was in pieces on the floor and he was trying to connect two bits of wire together, stripping back the insulation with his teeth.

Clint faltered for a moment, panic setting in, and then Natasha reached over, holding out a knife to Tony. “Here,” she said, her voice strained, her muscles so tense she was shaking. “Take mine.”

There was a sort of stunned silence around the room; Natasha never le anyone else touch her weapons, ever. Tony reached out and took it, without a word of thanks.

“Thank you,” Clint said, from the other side of the room, the tension in his throat evident in his voice. “Really Tash, you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” she gritted out through clenched teeth, steeling her eyes forward to avoid looking at Clint. “But the only chance you have of beating me in a fight is if you are armed and I am not.” It wasn't arrogance, they both knew it was true.

“Thanks,” his voice was still strained, but the gratitude was evident in his tone. “Really Tasha,” Clint murmured. ‘Thank you.”

Clint could feel his knees buckling underneath him and had to lock them to stop himself from crashing to the floor. His neck felt almost painfully bare, he’d never wanted a collar before but now he could understand the need for one.

Tony managed to rig up a basic CB radio and, with Natasha’s help, dialled up the channel SHIELD would be on. When the familiar voice came through from the other end saying, ‘Avengers I receive you,’ Clint couldn’t stop his knees buckling and he crashed to the floor, arms limp at his side, head bowed.

“Barton, on your feet.” Coulson ordered, his voice crackling over the radio.

That was all Clint needed to be able to drag himself back to a standing position; his head still bowed, his arms still by his side, but standing strong now instead of the rigid way he’d been forcing himself to keep upright previously.

“I need to inform you you are currently being filmed and the footage is appearing live on several television channels,” Coulson told them.

“Fuck,” Tony swore.

“The microphone is likely above your heads, although I cannot locate the cameras. I need you to take this out before we discuss this any further.”

Tony shone a light up towards the ceiling and, in an instant, Clint saw the microphone, dangling down, swinging above their heads. He threw one of his knives and took it out first time. 

“Well done, Barton,” Phil said softly and it was all Clint could do not to purr in response.

“The plan will be as follows,” Coulson continued, addressing the others more than Clint. “We have already got an extraction team heading to your location. When they arrive, obviously the gas which is contained in the room you are in will spread to them too - so you must do exactly as I instruct. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve barked out, following orders was something he was familiar with, something he could lose himself in the way Tony had lost himself in building the radio.

“Yourself, Banner, Stark and Romanov will leave the room when the extraction team come to meet you. You will close and lock the door behind you.”

“You want us to lock Hawkeye in?” Steve questioned, his eyes flicking possessively over Clint. “Is that the best idea?”

“Yes.” Phil’s voice sounded level to most of them, only Natasha and Clint knew him well enough to hear the snarl he was suppressing. “The extraction team which is coming to get you is made up entirely of Dominants. They will be under the same effect as you as soon as that door is opened and they will likely not be as mentally strong as the four of you are being.”

“Understood, Sir,” Steve said, not tearing his eyes away from Clint.

“A separate extraction team will arrive for Barton once the base has been cleared. You only need to worry about getting clear and getting yourselves out.” Phil paused for a moment before adding, “Remember Avengers, although they cannot hear what you are saying, you are still live on camera.”

Clint settled back into his corner, focusing on Coulson’s last order, he had to stand. His knees were still locked to stop them buckling, but it was an easier task now Coulson had ordered him to do it. Everything else however now got harder. No longer with the building of the radio to distract him, Tony was glancing his way every few seconds, tongue flickering out to lick his lips, Steve still wouldn’t tear his gaze from him and Bruce was getting steadily greener.

The moments until their evacuation team appeared seemed to drag by as if someone was stopping the clock hands, but eventually the sounds of a fracas outside their cell appeared and, with the exception of Clint, they all started to get battle ready.

Natasha retrieved her knife from where Tony had been using it as a screwdriver, Steve picked his shield back up, Tony moved behind them, no longer in his suit, having cannibalised most of it.

To Clint’s surprise as soon as the door swung open, Steve stepped in front of it, shield at the fore; apparently whilst he couldn’t keep himself in check where Clint was concerned, he also didn’t trust anyone else to and Clint was immensely grateful for that.

The effect of the gas on those who had come to rescue him was almost instantaneous, as it flooded out through the door, the way their pupils widened, the tension that appeared in their muscles.

“Extraction team here to meet you, Captain Rogers, Sir!” one of them barked out.

“Thank you,” Steve stepped out through the door, making sure he stood in such a way that, although the rest of his team could get out past him, no-one else could get in while they were doing so.

Tony led Bruce out, noticing the way people scattered as they saw what effect the chemicals were having on him. Natasha was last out, she didn’t turn to Clint, didn’t say anything to him. Whilst she could share with him her faith that Coulson would come and rescue him, it would be pointless. The faith she had in Coulson was nothing compared to what Clint felt in him.

As soon as the door was shut and bolted behind them, Clint let himself sink to the floor, still sat in the corner, knees hugged up to his chest. He heard the sounds of fighting outside, letting the guilt that laced through him at his inability to help ebb away. He was following orders, any guilt he might feel belonged to Coulson, as his staying there was Phil’s decision.

Eventually the sounds outside stilled and there was nothing but calm and quiet. He took deep breaths, attempting to calm himself, knowing it would be futile as the deeper he breathed, the more the chemicals would affect him.

He looked up as soon as he heard the bolts on the other side of the door sliding open. Scrambling to his feet, he drew an arrow, aiming it at the door, which swung slowly open to reveal Phil Coulson stood there, looking calm as ever, pristine in his suit.

“Come here, Clint,” he said softly, not stepping inside the room, he couldn’t risk being seen by the cameras watching the room.

Clint dropped once more to his knees, unable to stand in Phil’s presence, crawling across the floor to the door. He knew people would be watching him, he didn’t care that it was humiliating, Phil was there.

As soon as he passed the threshold of the door, Phil’s hand was on the back of his neck, stroking softly, comfortingly. “Come on you,” he said quietly. “On your feet.”

With Phil stood there beside him, Clint found the strength to pull himself to his feet. He walked beside Phil as they headed to the exit.

“How is it safe for you to be in here alone?” he asked eventually, when he’d found his voice again.

“The extraction team and the rest of the Avengers ensured everyone in this base was dealt with,” Phil answered brusquely. “They’ve already left the premises via air, so you’re perfectly safe.”

“I’m always perfectly safe with you, Sir,” Clint let his hand reach out to brush against Phil’s.

“Careful!” Coulson all but growled. “I’m now under exactly the same effects that everyone else was and I’d rather we could get to somewhere appropriate before I tear your clothes off.”

Clint just grinned. “Yes, Sir,” he said obediently, blinking as they stepped out into the sunlight.

Amazingly, Coulson managed to stay calm as they got into the car he’d driven, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel the only indication he was under any stress at all.

Clint opened his mouth to speak once, but was silenced by a glare from his handler and, if nothing else, he was at least a quick learner, so he didn’t try it again. He sat silently and as patiently as he could, fingers barely drumming against his thigh. 

Coulson didn’t drive far and soon they were at an out of the way motel, the kind of place Clint always thought serial killers would frequent, but he didn’t argue, he had more pressing concerns on his mind. Phil threw a hooded sweater at him and he pulled it on, tugging the hood up obediently. Whilst Coulson could still travel anywhere and avoid being recognised, he was definitely a public face these days.

They walked into the motel and the receptionist greeted them with a quiet, “Evening Mr Kent,” showing that, with impeccable planning, Coulson had been there already. He took his key from the desk and led Clint, who was following him head bowed, hands balled in fists at his sides.

The minute they stepped through the door to their room, Clint fell to his knees, all the effort of holding himself upright, of not pressing himself as close to Coulson as he could get was spent.

Coulson let out a feral growl, the first real indication he’d shown that he was affected by the gas at all. “What do you need, specialist?” he asked.

“To serve you,” Clint answered suddenly, surprising himself with his honesty.

“Good,” Coulson let his mouth twitch up in half a smile. “Strip for me, and quickly.”

That was all Clint needed to find the strength to get himself back onto his feet, he pulled the jumper and his t-shirt over his head before reaching for his arm guard.

“Leave it,” Coulson ordered, a look of surprise on his own face at the order, Clint wasn’t the only one speaking before he was thinking.

Clint grinned at him. “Yes, Sir,” he agreed, reaching down to take his boots off before stripping off his combat trousers. His cock was hard and aching, tenting the front of his boxers, and Coulson reached out to trail a finger across it.

“How long have you been waiting for me like this?” Coulson asked, his voice low and possessive.

“Since the first moment they released the gas,” Clint answered honestly. “Only you.” He looked up at Coulson his eyes almost black with desire. “I could only think about you, Sir.”

“Good.” Coulson leant forward and let his teeth sink into Clint’s neck, licking, sucking, biting hard enough to leave a mark that would last for days, not caring that it would be visible above the collar of his uniform. “Now undress me,” he ordered, letting his own hands wander to the waistband of Clint’s boxers to slide them down so the younger man was standing naked before him.

Clint took more care with Coulson’s clothes than he did with his own, making sure the suit jacket was placed carefully on the back of a chair, placing his tie so it wouldn’t crumple, his shirt and trousers being folded, until finally they were stood naked before each other.

Coulson turned away from him, reaching into his briefcase to retrieve the lubricant. He threw the bottle at Clint. “Prep yourself for me, Barton,” he ordered. “On the bed.”

Clint climbed onto the bed, his eyes never leaving Coulson’s face. He slicked up his own fingers, before sliding them into himself, his mouth widening in pleasure.

“Tell me,” Coulson ordered, his breath ragged with anticipation. “Tell me what you were thinking in that room.”

“That I needed you, Sir,” Clint gasped, stretching himself with two fingers already, he was so eager he knew he’d be easier to prepare. “I thought I’d come when I heard your voice over the radio.”

“But you can’t, can you?” Phil smirked at him, moving to lie on the bed beside him, long fingers stroking his own cock. “Not until I tell you to.”

“No, Sir,” Clint moaned, sliding a third finger inside himself. “I need you, I’m yours, only yours.” He was starting to babble and Coulson knew he was ready.

“Come here,” Coulson ordered, and reaching over grabbed Barton by the waist, pulling him so he was straddling him. It took quite a lot of his strength to stop Clint just impaling himself there and then, but he smirked up at the younger man. “Ask,” he ordered.

“Oh God, Phil please,” Clint begged and with that was allowed to slide himself down the length of Coulson’s cock.

“Go on Clint,” Phil whispered dirtily. “Pleasure yourself like you’ve been thinking of doing for hours.”

Clint just moaned in response, words finally beyond him as he moved up and down, relishing the feel of Phil thrusting up to meet him. It didn’t take long before he was spurting his come over his own belly, tightening around Phil drawing his orgasm out of him.

The effects of the chemicals in their systems meant they both came so hard they passed briefly out, coming round to find Clint sprawled on top of Phil.

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint mumbled, happy but falling asleep.

Phil just grinned at him, smoothing a hand through Clint’s hair as he shifted them to a more comfortable position. “That’s what I’m here for, love,” he said softly.

 

**

By the time Clint and Phil got back to SHIELD, the rest of the Avengers were just coming out of the decontamination chamber.

“Good Morning Team,” Clint grinned brightly at them. “Have a good night?”

Tony shot him a glare. “That’s the look of a man who didn’t have to sweat through this the hard way like the rest of us did.” He reached out and poked the hickey on Clint’s neck. “Who took care of you then?”

“No-one you know,” Clint sing-songed, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as she would know it was a lie.

“So you were out, getting laid, while we were stuck in a containment chamber with a bunch of other Doms and the Hulk until the symptoms passed,” Tony sighed. “How is that fair again?”

“It’s not,” Clint grinned at him. “SHIELD clearly love me more than they love you.”

“Come on, Barton,” Coulson sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation at Clint. “Just because you’re favourite, doesn’t mean you get out of doing your paperwork.” He turned on his heel and headed towards his office, trying not to grin as Clint skipped along behind him, combat boots thumping on the floor.

“See,” Clint called over his shoulder to the other Avengers standing there glaring at him. “I’m favourite.”


End file.
